1 Day - 1 Day

In less than 24 hours I'll begin my last day of work. 24 hours. Sometimes that's an eternity. Sometimes it's no time at all.

So, what can happen in one day? A lot. Today's theme is this: 24 hour world records. How much of something can one person do during one complete rotation of the earth?

March 23, 2010

- Shaun Jones squat lifts 1,013,350 lbs and 6 oz over a 24 hour period. He trained for six years. It was his 50th birthday.

November 29, 2004

- Arulanantham Suresh Joachim of Australia (really?) runs 160.24 miles in 24 hours. On a treadmill. This also qualified him as the world record holder for the most boring thing you can do for 24 hours.

August 29, 2009

- Irishman Michael Cotter delivers exactly 5,000 high fives at a festival in Dublin, demolishing the previous record held by American Blake Roberts, who had given 3,131 high fives at a Dunkin' Donuts in Providence, RI. Cotter's Official statement after achieving the feat: "I love giving high fives. I've been doing it for years...It's an entire conversation, without words."

August 1, 2008

Detroit, MI - Eight boys, aged 8-11 set the world record for...bouncing. They bounced in shifts, two at a time for 24 hours straight. In an inflatable castle. According to ten-year-old Mason Brott, it wasn't as difficult as he expected.

So you see, a lot can be done in 24 hours. I'm not going to set a world record in the next 24 hours, but I am going to be unemployed.

2 Days - Did I Ever Tell Ya...

That's how I picture most stories from any senior citizen beginning. It's especially how I picture the telling of stories about back in the day, or in those days, or way back when. America has its fair share of these stories, called Tall Tales. You know about Tall Tales - we learned about them in grade-school.

Did I ever tell ya 'bout the time ole Pecos Bill lassoed a Tornado?

Did I ever tell ya 'bout the time ole Paul Bunyan ate 100 flapjacks in one minute?

Did I ever tell ya 'bout ole John Henry? He could drive a railroad spike in one swinga that hammer-a-his?

We all know the characters. Paul Bunyan. Pecos Bill. Johnny Appleseed. John Henry. But as I looked into American Folklore heroes today, I found some characters that I either had never heard of or had forgotten about. Here are a few of the lesser-known American legends.

Did I ever tell ya...

...'bout ole Joe Magarac?

The original man of steel, Joe Magarac was a steelworker from Pittsburgh who was made of steel. He rose from an old Ore Mine to help the steelworkers in times of need. Of course, like any good American, Magarac was a hard-worker, a man's man. He worked 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Legend has it that Joe melted himself in a crucible in order to build a new steel mill. That's sacrifice.

...'bout ole John Henry?

I know, I know. We all know who John Henry is. But I have to give some props to the man - he was from Missouri! You know the story, but here's something I found interesting: Wikipedia has John Henry listed at 6 foot, 200 pounds. I don't know about you, but I always thought he was a giant! Still, the guy was strong as an ox and carried a 20 pound hammer. He died of cardiac arrest after racing a steam-powered hammer. Wow.

...'bout ole Febold Feboldson?

The Swedes seem to have a big presence in the Great Plains. Their hero is Febold Feboldson. Febold, a Nebraska boy, is known as the "drought-buster". A drought is a farmer's worst nightmare. A good harvest means that you need plenty of rain. One year in particular, there was a serious drought. So dry that ink dried and blew away in the wind before it could get to the paper. So dry that falling snow created dust-storms. So dry that ole Febold's log cabin dried out and shrunk to the size of a dog-house. And that's when he got to work. Febold built huge fires near the lakes in the area, so huge that the water evaporated, turned into clouds, and viola - rain!

...'bout ole Tony Beaver?

Tony Beaver was Paul Bunyan's cousin. Who knew?

3 Days - Walk On

I'm going on a pilgrimage. In less than three weeks, a few of my friends and I will be walking through the fields of Northern Spain on our way to Santiago de Compostela. I've had it in mind to take this trip for a long while, and I can't think of a better time to do it and better people to do it with.

Our particular journey is the Camino de Santiago. Tradition has it that the cathedral in Santiago hosts the bones of St. James (Santiago) the Apostle, and millions of pilgrims over hundreds of years have traveled the road.

I've spent quite some time reading about the Camino and about pilgrimages in general, and there are so many amazing things to write about. Today, though, something in particular struck me about the pilgrims that have walked this road.

The End of the Road

For many of the nomads, Santiago was not the end of the road. Many pilgrims would arrive at Santiago and then walk an additional 90km to Cape Finisterre, the westernmost part of Spain. In those times, the road to Santiago was the road to the "End of the World", known to us today as the Atlantic Ocean. In those times, the Atlantic Ocean was, quite literally, the end of the world. Remember the story that we all learned when we were kids about Christopher Columbus? Columbus's journey was a big deal because he was going into the unknown. He was crazy. He was going to sail off of the edge of the world and never be heard from again.* To the pilgrims, the Atlantic Ocean represented death, the unknown, and when you walked through Santiago and on to the ocean, you came face to face with death.

And then you turned your back on it and walked away.

Going Back...

Except for rare occasions, the ancient pilgrim finished the trail, did an about face, and walked the entire thing all over again. You're only halfway there. A months-long journey just got months-longer.

There is no "end of the road" when you go to Santiago. The pilgrimage is a metaphor for life. You keep moving. You have significant moments and insignificant moments. You stub your toe. Your legs get tired. You get rained on. You feel the breeze. You see the most beautiful flowers. You get hungry.

You walk.

You keep walking.

You follow.

Today, most pilgrims that finish the trail head to the nearest bus-stop, airport, or train station and catch a ride home. That's what we are doing. You may not walk back, but you still go back. To something new. And you are new, too.

*This theory is actually false. Most Europeans and even ancient Greeks held the belief that the world was spherical. The issue in Columbus's day was not the shape of the earth, but the size of the earth. But the ocean, the end of the world, was still representative of death.

4 Days - My Life in Song Titles With Parentheses and Run-On Sentences

Today's theme (thanks to one of my top g-chat-at-work buddies, Molly) is "My Life in Song Titles with Parentheses and Run-on Sentences". I'll assign a song title to each event or season of my life. This track-list is in somewhat chronological order up through high school.

• It's a Boy! (or, The Child Who Came Out of the Womb Sweating)
• "Slow Down, Please!" (or, Mom's Famous Last Words Before Rushing the Kids into the House While an Undercover Police Officer Gets a Shotgun Out of His Trunk and Breaks Down the Neighbors' Door)
• Swing-set For Sale! (or, The Story of Two Child-Entrepreneurs Who Sold Their Swing-set In Order to Buy a Nintendo Entertainment System)
• Becoming Left-Handed (or, the First Day of Kindergarten With a Broken Elbow From Climbing Up the Door Frame Like Spider-Man and Being Pushed From Behind By Someone Who Shall Remain Unnamed)
• What Should We Watch? (or, Memorizing Jurassic Park, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and Dumb and Dumber)
• Hampsey's Funeral
• Wearing T-Shirts While Swimming May Not Look Cool, But When You're Sunburned This Bad, It's Necessary (or, The Family's First Trip to Florida)
• The Butt Cut and An Unhealthy Obsession With All Things Star Wars (The Middle School Years, Part I)
• Because Stone Cold Said So! (Professional Wrestling Pay-Per-View Events, or, The Middle School Years, Part II)
• A T-Shirt Again? (or, The Second Family Trip to Florida)
• Cut From the Golf Team (or, The Last Time I Ever Played Organized Sports)
• Are You Still Awake? (or, Meeting Jesus at a Sleep-over)
• Brian's Couch, Matt's Couch (or, Weekends and Summers in the Basement)
• Me and Steve (or, Tuesday, Tacos, and TV: The Best Day of The Week)
• Hit and Run (or, The Summer of the Water Balloon Slingshot)
• Finally Free! (or, The Child Who Came Out of the Womb Sweating Sweats Through His Graduation Gown)

5 Days - The Art of Correspondence

This morning before work, my roommate Matt informed me that he needed to write a letter. Matt's brother is currently studying abroad in South Africa, and they email frequently to keep up with one another. But today Matt has to write a letter. His brother's girlfriend is sending a care package and asked Matt if he would like to include a letter for his brother.

And that's when we got to talking. What should he write? He can't write about the last few weeks of his life, because that's all in the emails. What do you write in a letter that someone may not read for days? How do you develop a thought on paper when lives are organized for immediate response and rapid-fire, short-sentence conversation? How do you write a letter, and what do you say? And why do you write a letter?

We all love receiving mail. There's something special about it. Anticipation. Excitement. Delayed gratification. Emails and texts are a dime a dozen, and they lack the emotional response that a good hand-written letter does. Yet, very few people I know write letters. With 5 Days left, I went exploring. Ironically enough, most of today's thoughts are the result of emails, google-chat, and conversations. I'm using the internet to learn about not using the internet.

No Backspace

My friend Katie said this about letter-writing: there is no backspace. And it's true. Writing a letter forces you to think ahead. It forces you to develop thoughts in a more complete way before putting them on paper. The reader knows this, too. Receiving something that is hand-written is special. You know that thought and care was put into the process. Someone thought about you, got out a pen and paper, took time to write to you, folded it and put it in an envelope, put a stamp on it, wrote your name and address on it, and put it in the mail. It may not seem like much, but it is.

The Letter Experience

Receiving and reading a letter is an experience. It involves more of the senses. You can feel the weight of the parcel, you feel and hear the tearing of the envelope in order to reveal its contents. The paper has texture, and the handwriting has character. You can hold it, fold it up and put it away, and open it up again. You can even smell it. Maybe it was written in a coffee shop. Maybe it has a hint of cigarette smoke. Maybe, like in the old days, there was a mist of cologne or perfume sprayed on the paper. All of these things enhance the reading experience and make the letter more than something you just read. You experience a letter.

Recovering the Art of Correspondence

My parents were adamant about sending hand-written thank-you notes when I was growing up, and I still do. I've written hundreds of them. It takes time. It takes thought. It takes finesse. But it's been a while since I took the time to sit down and write a letter.

When I was in the first grade I wrote a letter to a soldier in Iraq. I even included a picture of tanks and airplanes and Bald Eagles. Weeks went by, and then I received an envelope that had a whole bunch of strange stamps and writing on it. Inside was a letter from my new pen-pal and an Iraqi five dollar bill. As a seven year old kid, I loved it. I opened my letter and looked at it over and over again. I brought it to show and tell. And I still have it.

6 Days - NFL Draft Day

Today is Earth Day. It is also NFL Draft Day.

In celebration of both holidays, I'm wearing my official Kansas City Chiefs polo. I had never worn a Chiefs Polo until last summer, and let me tell you, I love it. It's different from wearing a t-shirt or a jersey. I feel very official, like when I put on this polo I know things about football that I otherwise do not. And the people who see me wearing my Chiefs polo know that, too. "That guy has a Chiefs polo. He's a serious fan." I like to think that if I tucked my polo into pair of pleated khakis and put on a pair of white sneakers, I could easily make my way into a coaches' meeting or even onto the field.

I found the polo in a pile of old clothes that someone was giving away. One man's trash...

There is actually a term for this in the NFL Draft. The very last player chosen in each draft is labeled "Mr. Irrelevant". The idea is that the last player chosen in the draft is kind of a novelty. He will make no impact as a professional football player. He's almost unwanted.

Last year the Chiefs had the final selection in the NFL Draft. "With the 256th pick in the NFL Draft, the Kansas City Chiefs select...Ryan Succop, kicker, University of South Carolina."

Mr. Irrelevant is celebrated with a trophy and an entire week-long event in Newport Beach California. It's a charity event, and it's also a way of celebrating a guy that probably won't make it much longer as a football player. (Side note: In 1967, Jimmy Walker was Mr. Irrelevant. Just weeks later, he was the number one overall pick in the NBA.)

But every now and then one of those last picks in the draft makes an impact.

As it turned out, Ryan Succop was one of those rookies. Succop became KC's starting kicker, and by the time the season was over, he had kicked a lot of field goals. In fact, he kicked more field goals than any rookie in Chiefs history. He also tied the NFL record for field goal percentage for a rookie. The Chiefs won only 4 games in 2009, but Succop had a huge hand in those wins. In week 6, he accumulated all of KC's offensive points by himself, and in week 11 he kicked the game winning field goal in overtime. Succop was Kansas City's rookie of the year.

Mr. Irrelevant was very relevant.

What does all this mean? First, It means that sometimes the draft is a crapshoot. Yes, there are reasons that the players that are taken at the beginning of the draft are taken at the beginning of the draft. People believe that they will be exceptional football players at the pro level, and to some degree they have proven that. But sometimes people, and things, just fly under the radar. They were good all along, and no one noticed.

And sometimes you just get surprised. All of a sudden, someone who is relatively unknown steps into the spotlight. Many of the characters we find lovable in movies, books, and TV shows have at least a hint of this to their stories.

Junk. Late draft picks. Ryan Succop. Mr. Irrelevant. My Chiefs polo.

7 Days - DaVinci Day

In 2006, I spent over five months living in Milan, Italy. Milan is the home of the Santa Maria delle Grazie, the church which houses Leonardo DaVinci's The Last Supper. The Last Supper, along with along with Michelangelo's Creation of Adam and Leo's own Mona Lisa, might be the most famous painting in the world.

Like I said, I spent five months living in the same city that housed one of history's greatest masterpieces. In fact, I went to school about two blocks away from the church, just a short walk.

I never went to see it. I had tons of excuses: I'm saving money for travel. I'm not really "into" art. I've already seen the Mona Lisa. I'll do it later; after all, it's just down the street. Eventually, when my brother and a friend came to town and we did try to see it, the church was booked solid through the summer.

But don't write me off as shallow just yet. I did read The DaVinci Code while I was over there. And I did tour the Vatican. Two out of three ain't bad, right?

Today, though, I pay Leonardo his due. Wikipedia, here I come. Again.

Wikipedia has a huge article on DaVinci. There are even tons of "sub-pages" specifically about his personal life, his scientific studies, and his art-work. This guy's a big deal. I dive right in. Basically, Leonardo was famous for being the go-to-guy for just about everything. He is, literally, the definition of "Renaissance man".

By about 3pm, I'm thinking that maybe I bit off more than I could chew with this one. Don't get me wrong - this guy is super-interesting. But there is just too much info here. It's absolutely fascinating and absolutely overwhelming. I think I'll give you some fun facts and call it a day.

1. Leonardo compiled volumes of scientific observations that included studies of animals, astrology, geometry, human anatomy, and prototypes for things like flying machines, submarines, tanks, missiles, underwater breathing devices, and large bridges - this is the 1400's, folks! Bill Gates bought one of these books for over 30 million dollars. It is the most expensive book in the world.
2. The books, as well as most anything DaVinci wrote, were written in mirror image. Right to left and backwards. There are many theories on this, but the most practical view is that he learned to write backwards because he was left-handed and didn't want to smudge the ink.
3. Despite designing war-machines, DaVinci hated war. He thought it was madness. And he was a vegetarian. Has anyone ever been an Italian and a vegetarian?
4. In addition to being uber-smart and uber-artistic, Leo was an amazing socialite. He was good looking, could carry a conversation about anything, was humble, and was always generous. He was also super-strong. According to a contemporary of his, Vasari, DaVinci "with his right hand could bend the ring of an iron door knocker or a horseshoe as if they were lead." Again, he was left-handed.
5. For any of the lady-readers who might be swooning over this ultimate-man, hold that thought. Many believe Leonardo was a homosexual, or at least celibate. He had no children.
6. There is a Ninja Turtle named after him.

Vasari, again says:

"In the normal course of events many men and women are born with various remarkable qualities and talents; but occasionally, in a way that transcends nature, a single person is marvellously endowed by heaven with beauty, grace and talent in such abundance that he leaves other men far behind....Everyone acknowledged that this was true of Leonardo da Vinci, an artist of outstanding physical beauty who displayed infinite grace in everything he did and who cultivated his genius so brilliantly that all problems he studied were solved with ease. He possessed great strength and dexterity; he was a man of regal spirit and tremendous breadth of mind..."

Here's to you, Leonardo!

8 Days - 100 Email Day

88. That's the closest we ever came.

For almost two years now, my good friend Wilkes and I have been emailing back and forth every day. Then, one day, we decided that it would be fun to see if we could hit 100 emails back and forth over the course of one work day. Gotta dream big, you know? With time running out, yesterday became 100 email day.

Like any good story of triumph over the odds, there are obstacles. For starters, we are in different time zones. Wilkes is one hour ahead of me, which means that when my day starts at 9:30am, it's already 10:30 for him. When he goes to lunch, that's another hour gone. And he's a banker, which means he leaves pretty early.

There is also an unspoken rule that each email has to have at least a little bit of substance. So, no one word answers like "yeah" and "hey". This is a conversation.

Oh. And we have jobs, so you never know when that might come into play.

Here are the details:

With 8 days left, my morning starts with this:

GOOOOOOOD MORNING. Welcome to the day of 100

#1

WB

Game on.

Things start out pretty steady, but by 11:15am, I'm getting a little nervous. We are at 16 emails, and I think Wilkes is at lunch. I've sent the last two emails in a row, so I don't feel like I can force the issue here.

Noon rolls around (1pm Eastern), and Wilkes comes out of the gate with two back to back responses to a couple questions that I asked earlier. Before I know it, we are at 20. Then 25. Picking up speed.

At 1:32pm, Wilkes sends the 50th email of the day. This was also about the time that I realized that I had not received any other emails that day.

By 3:30, we are at 64 emails. Starting to feel the crunch. Believe it or not, this is not that easy. I'm beginning to have my doubts that we can do this, and I'm fatigued. Wilkes is about to go home. I've got to head to another office for the rest of the day.

At 4:15, we are at 76 emails. It's 5:15 on the East Coast. One more good conversation topic ought to get us over the hump, but something that I was afraid would happen, happens. I've got to do some work. Moving candy, to be precise. I spend the next 15 minutes moving cases of candy across the building, and by the time I sit down to turn the computer on, its 4:40. I fire off one more email and wait. Bad news, Wilkes is nowhere to be found. Did he go home? Panic sets in. I decide to wait. At 5:30, I send a text.

"Is it over?"

"Yeah. Had to go into a meeting."

We didn't do it. Sending 100 emails back and forth might sound easy, but it is really not. It takes determination and a little bit of luck.

Sometimes you just have to settle for 77.

The Final Countdown

10 Days. Well, 9 days, because my last day will be "Zero Day".

The plan: I'm going to have a theme for each of my final ten days of work. For the sake of fun and boredom, I'll write a short blog post about each day.

Deal? Deal.

9 Days - Health Insurance Day

It's safe to say I know just about nothing about health insurance. Or should I say, I knew just about nothing about health insurance. That was before Health Insurance Day.

First, let me say that I have some problems with insurance. I just don't like the idea that I'm paying for protection against something that might never happen. It just bothers me.

However, I'm a good American citizen, and I understand that part of being a good American citizen is being insured. And I've had some cavities filled that I know I wouldn't have wanted to pay for in full, so, I get it. In just a little while, I'll need to purchase my own health insurance plan, and that means I need to be informed.

My first order of business was to email my friend Clay. Clay sells insurance, and I trust him. That seems like a good place to start. I tell Clay that I'm looking for two things - decent coverage and low cost. Clay puts together a little plan for me, and that's when I realize just how uneducated I am when it comes to health insurance. What's co-insurance? What's a deductible?

Next stop: Wikipedia.

Wikipedia is the ultimate source for basic information on just about anything, and it delivers the goods on health insurance. Before I know it, I've got some of the lingo down, and I know what I'm looking for. I check out some quotes online, make some comparisons, and compose another email to Clay with some questions about things like co-pay and premiums. And we're off.

I didn't buy an insurance plan yesterday, and I've still got some things to consider. But it was a good start.

Mission accomplished.

Halfway There

"For his dream of the future was real and never to be destroyed, and he had said, 'I will go,' and that made a real thing too. To determine to go and to say it was to be halfway there."

John Steinbeck - The Pearl

I recently made a big decision. It was one of those decisions on either side of which you define your life as "pre-" and "post-". And it was a long process -- an eight-months-long process, and probably longer if you think about everything that led me to this point.

An interesting thing happened about a week or two before I "sealed the deal". I started having these conversations with friends and acquaintances that went something like this: "Hey, have you made a decision yet?" "As soon as I can admit to myself that this is what I want, I'll make the decision." My mind was made up, but I was afraid to speak it.

I think that's how most of my decisions go. I know what I want long before I say it or commit to it. Because saying it gives it life. Once something is spoken, it is alive. It is real, and it has life. And you can't control it anymore. You can only respond to it.

Like Steinbeck says, our thoughts and dreams are real. But speaking them into the world is the hard part.

Because now I'm halfway there.

Set This Hope In Me

If you tear me a part, will you put me back together?

If I'm overcome with grief, sweat spilling down my brow, will you comfort me?

If my heart, tormented with the sorrow of not knowing, longs to be put together again, will you find all that's lost?

If I begin to believe I'm alone, unlovable, unwanted, will you whisper to me?

If destruction is the path set in front of me, will you walk it with me?

If I'm scared, and I can't say it, can't express it, can't understand it, will you set light in my eye?

If my back has broken from this burden of shame that I have strung around my neck, will you carry it?

Will you release me?

Will you heal me?

Will you set me free?

Come. For I know you have, and you are, and you will.

For I rise with you. And I will let you hold me up. This destruction...this destruction is beauty.

For today we rise.

benjamin

This Day in History

Hands down, the telephone has to be one of the most influential inventions of all time.

Think about it. One day, you're writing a letter that will take days to get to your friend. The next day you punch a few numbers into a receiver, and you can talk with someone miles away as if she's sitting right next to you.

All of a sudden, communication becomes easier. Business happens faster. Plans can be made only minutes in advance. Breaking up with boyfriends or girlfriends becomes less awkward.

Lately, you hear a lot about the "connected" or the "plugged in" world. In our society, if you don't have a cell phone you are in the minority. In fact, I haven't even used a land line in my home since living in the dorms in college. I email. I text. I call. I blog.

Anyone can get a hold of me at any minute. Not only can they get a hold of me, it's expected that I will be available at any minute. If someone doesn't answer the phone when you call, send a text. If the the text isn't answered, send an email.

I don't think things are too different today than they were at any other time in history. The telephone, just like the letter and the text and the carrier pigeon and the dashes and dots, means this: We need each other. We need to be connected to others. We want to be connected to others. We want to relate and interact with one another. We like the feeling of being loved when we hear the voice of a friend. When the phone rings, it means someone is thinking about you. Even if it is a telemarketer.

But still, there is something about presence that can't be replaced. Something is lost in translation over the telephone. It's not the same as having someone physically right there with you. There is no body language. There is no eye contact. Things become even fuzzier with text-messaging. You can't pick up on sarcasm or accents. A phone call, or email, or text, just isn't enough.

Which is why on this very day in 1876, when Alexander Graham Bell placed the world's first phone call to his assistant, Thomas Watson, he said this:

"Mr. Watson, come here! I want to see you!"

-Dave

For All

Is this the taste of humanity?

"All I can say now is that something small but unforgettable happened inside me as the result of that chance meeting--some small flickering out of the truth that, in the long run, there can be no real joy for anybody until there is joy finally for us all..."

Do we hold this inside? The longing for one another. The longing for myself.

To taste joy. To at last shrug off the weight of carrying a tired body in a tired world.

And to know that you are coming with me, you, and you, and me. A joy for all.

ben

Ashes to Ashes

Remember:

From dust you came,

Have you ever watched someone make pottery? Maybe create pottery is a better term. Then again, potters call it "throwing". And it is throwing, because it's very physical. It takes all of you to make a good pot.

A couple weeks ago I had the opportunity to watch someone throw pottery. Kyle took me to his studio at the University of Washington where he is a ceramics major. He got all dressed up in his coveralls and hauled a bucket full of used clay over to a table where he smacked it into a thin layer to let it dry.

Then Kyle took some other clay and did this thing called "wedging". Basically, you find some open space - for him, it was the ground - and you sort of knead the clay for a while. Vigorously. It's supposed to get any air bubbles out and ease the creating process later. So you get down on the ground, on your knees, and you work the clay. You throw it against the ground and you beat the air bubbles out of it.

After that, Kyle carefully made a ball and put it on the wheel. The wheel is difficult. You have to learn it, know it. It takes a combination of skill, gentleness, and strength. In his words, "You could take the biggest, baddest football player, and he'd be huffing and puffing by the end of it and not have anything to show for it." It takes your whole body - your back and your hips and your arms, legs, head, shoulders. You really have to get into the process.

Then he kicked on the wheel, and the ball started spinning. He added water to his hands and to the ball of clay, and he started into it. Just like that, there was a divot in the middle of the ball. Then, just like that, it had a shape. The clay looked like it was rising out of itself, or rising out of Kyle's hands. It's a delicate process as much as it is a brute process.

As Kyle explained to me what he was doing on the wheel, he spoke as if the clay were a living creature. He would say things like "It doesn't want to cooperate" or "You have to know what the clay wants" and later, "It's getting tired. Might be time to stop."

And I watched him nod his head, because throwing clay is rhythmic. You nod your head as the clay spins and you get a feel for where the lumps and imperfections are and you apply pressure the next time it comes around. You learn the clay, and you join it and guide it.

The story of God creating humans out of the clay of the earth hit me with more clarity than I've ever had before. God got involved. Because making humans is a very physical thing. He knelt down on the ground and plunged both of his arms deep into the earth. He dug out a heap of sledge, put it on the floor, and he began to create. He smacked out the air bubbles and kneaded us. He carefully rolled us up into a ball. He put us on the wheel. He used his skill and his strength and he joined us in rhythm. He joined us. He used his arms and his back and his legs and hips. It's a delicate process as much as it is a brute process. And he listened to us, to each unique piece of pottery. He spoke of us as if we were a living creature.

And then, in a way that not even the most expert potter could do, God breathed into us. After watching the effort that goes into throwing pottery, I wonder if the breath God breathed into us was a breath of exhaustion. I think it might have been. Like a breath of release after you've concentrated and worked really hard at something, after you've really put yourself into something. Like you've given that thing part of yourself.

When he was finished, Kyle took off his coveralls. His clothes were damp with the effort of creation. And God rested.

And to dust

You shall return

Kyle threw any extra scraps back into his bucket to dry. He scraped the muck off of the wheel, and he picked up little slivers of clay off of the floor. Every bit.

The bits and pieces of sludge aren't thrown away, though. They wait in that bucket until it's time to make something again. Then you take those pieces and you mash them together. You put them back on the table. You wedge them on the floor. You form them into a ball, and you put them on the wheel. And then, one day, you begin again to create another unique piece of art out of the scraps of life.

We're Back...For Now

Ryan is a good friend of ours. He recently spent a few months in Ecuador, and now he's vagabonding around Kansas and the rest of the country. He also goes by Ry-man.

More Than Words

Have you sat in front of people that just did not talk? Like you’re two feet away from there and they’re just staring off into the distance. They’re not in a hurry. They’re not going oddly slow. They’re just sitting there. Little whispers here and there. A grimace; a smile; a playful kick to the ankle.

Is it weird? It is meant to be? What if they’re just enjoying their time together? Maybe their connection is deeper than words. Maybe they’re just enjoying each other’s presence. Maybe that’s how relationship with God needs to be.

There is something to be said about an intimate experience with the Lord where nothing is said. Mother Theresa was asked what she says when she prays. She said, ‘nothing, I just listen to God.’ ‘What does God say,’ was the following question. ‘Nothing, He just listens to me.” Perhaps that is the way to relate to the creator of the universe. The One who is not in the earthquake, fire or wind, but rather in the still quiet whisper. To mature beyond the need for words and just to sit in each other’s presence. To allow the Presence and love of the Lord to wash over you like a babbling brook over a stone.

You know happens to that stone? Eventually it becomes smoother and smoother, and smaller and smaller, and then finally, after mountains of time the stone dissolves into nothing.

And the two become one.

Why I Love Kansas City: Arrowhead Stadium

I absolutely love the feeling of driving west on I-70 when it suddenly turns into the "George Brett Super Highway". That's when you can see one of the crown jewels of Kansas City: Arrowhead Stadium.

I feel like this post is long overdue, because Arrowhead is one of the first things that comes to my mind when I think about my hometown. It's a symbol of pride and passion for the residents of this great city. Where else in the world can you join with 70,000-plus fans to sing the last line of the national anthem: "and the hoooome of theee...CHIEFS!!!" Talk to a Kansas Citian long enough about KC, and he'll be sure to point out that on game day, you can party in the world's largest BBQ pit before entering into 116+ decibels of chaos.

I had the privilege of attending games at Arrowhead the past two weekends: one, the Border Showdown between Mizzou and KU (the single funniest sporting event I have ever been to). The other: the Chiefs vs. the Broncos. I know the Chiefs are absolutely terrible right now, but its still a one-of-a-kind experience. Here are some highlights from my visits:

• A Darth Vader clad Chiefs fan (Think red sweat suit, red Darth Vader mask, a light saber, and a Chiefs bed sheet for a cape)
• Free food and drink. Chiefs fans are the best. You can walk around the parking lot, strike up a conversation, and before you know it, you're gnawing on Big Dan's homemade short-ribs. Amazing.
• A grown man showing his 10-year-old son how to kick the backs off of two stadium seats and bang them together - "D-FENSE! D-FENSE!"
• A mini school bus painted Chiefs-style with a platform on top for people to hang out during the tailgate. The bus also included a 5-foot wooden cut-out hand with a Chiefs bracelet on giving the "#1" sign.
• The "domino fall": After a Mizzou touchdown, girl #1 topples over the seat behind me and crashes into girl #2 next to me, sending girl #2 over the seat in front of her, and then girl #1 lands on top of girl #2. Very funny.

These are just a few of the more blog-appropriate things I experienced at Arrowhead. Other tidbits include fans throwing items, screaming curse words, middle fingers, Zubaz pants, Indian headdresses, irreverent t-shirts, and plenty more falls.

And there's always the game.

dave

Fullness

We give thanks. We give thanks for our friends, for our families, for our homes, health, jobs, for the food on the table. We stop, and give pause to think about all that we have.

All that I have. Is it enough? A lot? A little? Do I have enough friends? Wish I was closer to some, distanced from others? Am I grateful, truly thankful for the guitar that sits against the wall gathering dust? Or for the college education I finished a few years ago (If my parents ever read this I am thankful to be debt free!)?

Maybe I have too much to even be thankful for it all. It gets lost in the mix, pushed to the wayside when I start dreaming about what is next. And there is always a next.

My stuff, and the quantity of that stuff is constantly in tension. I drive down roads with multi-million dollar homes, and I have walked the streets of developing countries where a roof is all you get.

And these groups they are thankful. Right? If I have everything I want, I will be thankful. And if I live in a world where I have to walk 2 miles to get fresh water, I can be thankful.

It begs the question in my heart. How? How can these 2 worlds coexist. Do worlds of have and those of have not both produce thankfulness? How can I constantly want more, believe that with more I will be more thankful, more blessed, more happy.

When the thankful spirit exists in a world of have not.

I've come to believe that when you live in a world of have not, what you do have, what you get to be thankful for, is the only thing you are granted, and even this can still be taken away.

Life.

Life touches all of us. No matter where you live, or what you have, or how much, we all depend on life...to live, to experience, to grow, and taste the very things that exist around us.

I want to be thankful for this life. For the life of my beautiful wife. My courageous mother. My caring father. For my friends, and for the Life that started it all.

Life is full, and I'm thankful.

benjamin

Before the Devil Knows You're Dead

Allow us to introduce you to our first guest blogger. Collins is a good friend of ours who lives in Columbia, South Carolina. He's in law school, and, like a true South Carolinian, doesn't own one single pair of jeans. Here's what's on Collins's mind:

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My mom has a prim and proper evangelical friend who went to see some suspenseful movie in the theater. It was a popular movie, and the theater was packed. At the climax of the movie, the main character is betrayed and killed by his best friend. Without realizing what she was doing, my mom’s friend jumped out of her seat and shouted at the screen, “YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

I am just like my mom’s friend. When I watch a good movie, I become the protagonist. In my mind, I am dodging bullets or plotting revenge or coping with a broken heart. One of the best things about story is that we learn truth and wisdom about life without having to actually go through the circumstances that lead to such a revelation. But it’s also one of the hardest things for me about watching some movies. You know the ones I’m talking about: the ones where the protagonist is in trouble and keeps making things worse and worse until he is stripped of any redeemable quality. It normally starts out small. He owes his bookie some money, or he gets a drink with his cute co-worker while his wife is at home with two screaming kids. Then he decides to join a buddy in a “can’t-miss” robbery to score the cash, or he lets the girl talk him into a couple more drinks upstairs at her place. All of a sudden, things are out of control, and life as he knew it is over. And he doesn’t live in a vacuum; he’s like a tornado ripping up the lives of those people unfortunate enough to care for him. Because he couldn’t control himself in minor things, his vices take over his whole being.

Here’s why those movies are hard to watch: I am so, so capable of that. I am so capable of it. I am so capable of letting little vices start to take who I am. And I could do it without anyone knowing. I’m pretty good at hiding that stuff—most of us are. We’re slippery, furtive creatures that can quickly become more animal than man. Think of Gollum in Lord of the Rings or Joseph Conrad’s The Heart of Darkness. That is who we are. That lives inside of us.

Sufjan Stevens has a song called “John Wayne Gacy, Jr.” about a real-life serial killer who dressed as a clown and raped and murdered over thirty men and boys. That’s about as messed up as it comes. The song eerily describes Gacy’s method, but the end of the song gives me the chills:

And in my best behavior

I am really just like him

Look beneath the floorboards

For the secrets I have hid

Am I any different than John Wayne Gacy, Jr.? Sure, I haven’t actually killed anyone, but didn’t Jesus say that if I look at a person with anger, it is the same as murdering him? Don’t our hearts make us as guilty as Gacy? Aren’t we on an even playing field?

But at the same time, we are capable of great things. Beauty and grace and compassion live in our hearts alongside all that ugly stuff. We can seamlessly slip back and forth between these two states like an experienced skier effortlessly navigates moguls. These moments—these “slippery slope” points in time—are the ones that matter. And like in Woody Allen’s movie, Match Point, these moments can come down the flip of a coin, like when a tennis ball hits the top of the net and could come down on either side. These moments define us.

But here’s the thing: these moments occur every day. C.S. Lewis writes in his essay, “The Weight of Glory,” that we “live in a society of possible gods and goddesses” and that “the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare.” And all the time we are either becoming one thing or the other. We’re either moving toward goodness, truth, humility, beauty and mercy, or we’re giving way to selfishness, greed, lust and depravity. Both live in us. Both are fighting a war for our souls.

Here is where we normally insert that Jesus has come to redeem us from this brokenness. And I believe he has. But it’s a work in progress. Moreover, I think Jesus has equipped us with a tool to combat the chaos within us: friends. Real friends are willing to take a flashlight and nose around beneath the musty, cobwebbed floorboards of our attic-like hearts. They pry around; they want to know what’s under the canvas tarp even when we’re trying to divert their attention to the vintage stereo that might look good in the living room. And in spite of all our shortcomings, they continue to love us, not because their attics are tidy but because they are loved themselves. It starts by letting someone in, by giving someone the key to the attic. Friendship, obviously, requires effort on the part of more than one person, but I know that too often I wait for someone to come knocking instead of inviting someone over to have a look around. I am finding that when I let people into the dark, dark places of my heart, those places suddenly aren’t so scary. I don’t feel as threatened by them. And I know that if I act on those feelings, someone will know about it. It’s amazing how merely voicing the rumblings of the heart is like diffusing a bomb. All of the punch dissipates, and I realize that maybe I’m not such a weirdo after all.

I’ll close with a poem from one of my favorite writers that, I believe, applies to friendship as well as our spiritual life (maybe substitute the word “Lord” for “friend”):

Come to me, Lord, I will speculate not how,

Nor think at which door I would have thee appear,

Nor put off calling to my floors be swept,

But cry, “Come, Lord, come any way, come now.”

Doors, windows I throw wide, my head I bow,

And sit like one who so long has slept

That he knows nothing ‘til his life draws near

Places: Part II

Places grab onto our minds and don't let go. They stamp themselves into our memories, along with everything that happened there and everyone we were with. Yesterday morning I was enjoying a cup of coffee in the living room, and for some reason this very vivid memory popped into my head. It was from a trip that I took with my dad and brother a few years ago. We did and saw a lot of amazing things on that trip, but this memory was not one of those things. It was just a random moment - something forgettable. But there it was, for one reason or another.

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I remember waking up in the middle of the night. I had to go to the bathroom. We were in the middle of the French Alps. I unzipped the small door of the tent and stretched myself out of a cocoon of body heat and into the darkness. I was there. It was freezing cold. And windy. And I was there in the take-your-breath-away cold with these take-your-breath-away stars above me. We were all there, my brother, my dad, and I. My brother was awake, because it's hard to sleep when someone's rustling around next to you in a tent. Dad was asleep, probably snoring in the other tent not too far away. And we were there, the tall, sharp mountains lifting us into the night sky. Chris, giggling, snapped a picture of me standing there in my thermal shirt and underwear, freezing cold, teeth chattering. I quickly nestled back into my sleeping bag, zipped up the tent door, and fell asleep.

We were there.

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Our brains can remember a billion different things, but for some reason these "waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom" moments are often the things that we remember more clearly than any of the others. Maybe they are less ordinary than we think. Maybe there is something more to them. Maybe they are reminders that we are alive, all the time, and that our lives are happening. I'm reminded again of Frederick Beuchner's thought on moments like these in his memoir "The Sacred Journey":

At the very least, they mean this: mean listen. Listen. Your life is happening. You are happening... The music of your life is subtle and elusive and like no other--not a song with words, but a song without words, a singing, clattering music to gladden the heart or turn the heart to stone, to haunt you perhaps with echoes of a vaster, farther music of which it is part.

--dave

Fine Dining

There are certain things that have been debated since the beginning of time. Which fast food joint has the best dollar burger is not one of those things. But, it is something that my roommates and I have been debating about for months, if not years. Burger King? Wendy's? McDonald's? Lately, the conversation has boiled over into full-on arguments with accusations and yelling abound.

We decided to put the issue to rest once and for all, knowing full well that you can never "once and for all" something like this. Nonetheless, on Wednesday night we found ourselves sitting around the kitchen table with 30 patties of processed beef.

The general consensus was that this would be a two horse race between McDonald's and Burger King. Wendy's was included simply because they have a dollar menu. To be more accurate, Wendy's has a 99 cent menu.

So which of the Big Three was on its way to fast food glory? I decided to keep a running diary of the evening.

7:27pm - We just returned from "Fast Food Row" on Main St. There are a Burger King, a McDonald's, and a Wendy's literally within a quarter mile of one another, all on the same street. It's pretty amazing, really.

To expedite the process, Matt dropped each us off at a different location and then came back to pick us up. That way we could ensure that the burgers were equally fresh (when I say "fresh", I mean "comparably warm"). I went to McDonald's, Scott to BK, and Adam and Matt to Wendy's.

(Side Note -- A quick run-down of the clientele at each establishment: McDonald's - Mostly hipsters. One of them had saran wrap creeping up out of his v-neck t-shirt to protect a new tattoo covering his chest. BK - A large population of homeless folks. According to Scott, "if you've only got a dollar to spend, you're going to want to stretch it". More on that later. Wendy's - empty.)

7:31pm - There are 15 cheeseburgers on the kitchen table. Scott and Matt are determining the order of consumption by drawing squares of paper out of a bag. Here's the order - Wendy's, BK, Mickey D's. The atmosphere is electric. Seriously.

7:32pm - First up: The Wendy's Doublestack. Matt H. can't contain his excitement anymore and blurts out: "We're really doing this!" Yeah. We are.

One of the unique things about the Doublestack is that it has round onions. Wendy's almost convinced us that because the onions are sliced into rings as opposed to chopped (a la McDonald's), they are fresh. Almost.

Scott: "I would never complain about having to eat that. It's the best burger I've eaten so far."

7:34pm - Matt F. informs us that we just ate the healthiest burger on the menu. Its all down hill from here. Or up hill, depending on how you look at it.

7:35pm - On to the Burger King Double Cheeseburger: Remember Scott's theory of why there were so many homeless people inside the BK? This is by far the thickest burger. Big, thick patties and two slices of cheese. It dwarfs the others.

Adam: "Totally, totally different taste."

The BK Double is grilled, so it's not quite as greasy. It's a little slim on the condiments, and tastes a little bit dry. Much, much more meat, though. And two slices of cheese.

Matt F. throws in another nutrition stat: "We're gonna have about 60-70 grams of protein tonight."

7:38pm - I'm wondering if McDonald's slot as the final pick is going to hurt it in the long run. We're all pretty full. This isn't college anymore.

7:40pm - We all agree that Burger King's dollar burger is better than Wendy's's (can I do that? a double apostrophe "s"?).

7:41pm - Conflict! Matt H. objects to Scott "bringing in outside details" when Scott touts Burger King's dollar menu because it features onion rings. Apparently, Matt thinks this detail could sway some voters.

7:42pm - Wow. The McDonald's McDouble. It truly melts in your mouth.

7:43pm - We begin discussion by comparing the chopped onions of McD's and the sliced onions of Wendy's. McDonald's provides consistency. You don't have to worry about whether or not you're getting the same amount with each sandwich. They are EXACTLY the same. Matt H. observes: "Every bite tastes the same, from here to China".

7:45pm - It is finished. "I feel sick". "Yeah, me too." "All the fat we need for the rest of the week".

7:46 - Sitting. Digesting. Feeling disgusting.

7:46 - McDonald's pepper-seasoned-patty flavor is still lingering in my mouth. Amazing.

7:47 - We discuss how to better hold the competition next time. One bite from each? I think we all secretly hope that there won't be a "next time".

7:47 - Final thoughts. Matt F. - Over-all: Burger King. Taste alone: Wendy's, McD's, BK.

- (Gasps!) Wendy's?! Shocking. Absolutely shocking.

7:48 - Discussion on how all three tasted completely different. All good, but totally different products.

7:49 - Adam's turn to weigh in: Taste, Mickey D's. Value, BK. On Wendy's: "I was surprised how good it was, but i would choose it zero of the time.

7:50 - Dave: "I definitely had a bias towards McDonald's going into this competition, but I still think it's the best. It was just that good. BK definitely has the size factor, but the McDonald's flavor is just overwhelming."

7:52 - Scott: "We talked last night about how 'would you go to Burger King and order two burgers, given that they're so big?'. The answer is 'no'. I wouldn't. I couldn't! BK, and then whatever I'm in the mood for."

7:54 - Matt H.: "Burger King is my favorite burger. It tastes like you could have grilled it in your backyard. Wendy's is interchangeable with a lot of other places. McDonald's is just so good, though. It reminds me of being a kid. Over all: BK. But when I want childhood, I'm going to McDonald's."

7:55 - What?

7:56 - Completely satisfied (and stuffed to the gills) we decide that we're the real winners here. Three excellent burgers from three excellent dining establishments. Thank you, fast food.